Don't Get Me Wrong
by cynically quixotic
Summary: "I'm not doing this for you, you bastard! I just need to pay my debts, that's all!" The mafia never wanted to get involved in this. Another take on the strip in which Spain has a cold and Romano beats up the mafia. Implied Spamano.


"H-hey! Spain!" Romano yelled as he charged into the room of his former boss. "I heard that you weren't well, is that true, you bastard?" Spain stirred feebly, and Romano was struck by how wasted the once-empire looked.

"Aah... Romano." Spain managed a cheery smile from his sickbed. "It's really good that yours is the last face I'll see. I don't think I can hold on anymore..."

"But you've already received an injection, haven't you?" Romano demanded, flinching as Spain's body was wracked with another bout of coughing.

"I sent people to work in America, I also started up firms in Japan," Spain gasped, stretching out a trembling hand with an imploring look. "But it's not working... my fever's getting worse, I've no energy, I can't hold on anymore..." Romano hurried across to his bedside and clasped Spain's hand firmly between his own. Spain's eyelids slid shut.

"I wanted to give America and England a punch before I go..."

"Hey, damn it! I won't acknowledge something as pathetic as this as your last request, damn it!" Romano was scared and shaken. Most of the world thought of Spain as a cheerful country bumpkin with a love for tomatoes and bullfights. But he, along with England, France, Prussia and Turkey, knew better. Spain was a _fighter_, and if he was succumbing to his illness the situation was definitely more serious than anyone had imagined.

"Wa-wait for me!" He gave the hand a final squeeze and dropped it, rushing out the door. "I'll do something about this, but I'm not promising anything!" Spain just coughed in reply.

* * *

><p>"Yes, you heard me right, <em>cazzo<em>! What? I don't give a shit! Just do it!" Romano huffed as he slammed the receiver down without waiting for a reply. At least his own illness hadn't affected his vocal cords - at times, it was the only way he could get his government to listen to him at all.

"Increasing imports from Spain... _ve_, _fratello_, you're also having a hard time with your cold, aren't you?" Veneziano asked worriedly.

"Shut up!" Romano wheezed, his bark far worse than his bite. "This is a race against time!" He couldn't let the bastard die. Not that he cared or anything, but it was a way to thank him for saving him from Turkey all those centuries ago. That's all it was, damn it!

* * *

><p>"In this sort of recession, how can our country pay for even more Spanish imports? Better yet, how can boss expect us to make as much as before?" A mafia grunt was heard to grumble. He was quickly shushed by one of his partners.<p>

"Can it, _cazzo_. If the Don hears you grumbling we're all in for it. Or _worse_." A collective shiver ran through the trio skulking in wait in the alley.

"Did you see the lunch she packed for us?" One piped up after a moment of silent contemplation.

"We all did, Pistone," the third grunt winced. "But you won't catch me being the one to tell her to stop."

"Where do you think she got it from?" Grunt Two wondered. "I mean, her mamma-"

"_The Donna_," Grunt Three hissed, a trail of smoke issuing forth. "Show some respect, Costelle." Costelle made a face, but quickly continued.

"The _Donna_'s a fine cook, not that she would need to know how to do it, but the little missy on the other hand..."

"Respect for women aside, even you have to admit it, Brasco," Pistone agreed.

"Well, what are you gonna do about it, _cazzo_?" Brasco demanded, waving his cigar in agitation. "Go straight up to the boss and say 'Hey, your daughter's cooking sucks, no offense'?" The other two flinched at the thought. The Scorpione _Nono_ wasn't a fan of punishment, but neither was he one to condone disrespect and insubordination. He doted on his only daughter and allowed her to dispose of her culinary experiments as she pleased, much to the horror of his subordinates.

"They say she was taught to use food as a weapon by some _Inglese_," Costelle murmured in a confidential tone. "He came to visit the Don when the little Donna was a _bambino_, and fed her one of his scones." Pistone and Brasco looked horrified, and Costelle was well pleased with the reaction of his audience.

"In fact-" He was cut off as a cussing hurricane blew past them, spewing vulgarities in both Italian and Spanish.

"Isn't that-"

"I think it is."

Brasco stubbed out his cigar on the brick wall of the alley.

"Let's go, boys."

* * *

><p>"That bastard had better wait for me!" Romano huffed and puffed as he flew through the streets of Sicily. "I'll definitely save you, asshole!"<p>

A menacing chuckle sounded from within one of the many alleyways. "I'm sorry, but we can't have that..."

Romano skidded to a halt, the blood pounding in his head from his mad dash towards the airport. "Damn," he muttered. "It's the mafia. Did they come prepared for this?"

Costelle eyed the flushed and panting young man. "The increase in imports that you're bringing in from Spain?" Romano wheezed, nearly bent double with exhaustion. _Fuck... How did they find out about that?_

"Let's have you turn it over to us..." Brasco added. Pistone reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a basket of muffins.

Romano recoiled in disgust at the sight. The muffins were a deep purple, an evil odour wafting from them, staining the air with a smell strangely reminiscent of England's scones. But these were different - they _spoke_.

"In the first place, you've always been doing what we told you to~" they cooed persuasively.

"SHUT UP, YOU EVIL MUFFINS! DAMMIT!" Romano yelled in frustration. He cracked his knuckles and set his teeth, an odd gleam in his eye. These Mafioso were about to find out why no one, but _no one_ got between Romano and his ex-boss.

* * *

><p>The narrow alley was filled with fallen bodies and the gooey purple insides of pastries. Pistone groaned as Brasco tried to rise.<p>

"Huh?" Costelle spat out a couple of teeth. "He's strong today..."

Before they crawled home, it was unanimously agreed upon that they had never left.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Spain!" Romano crashed through the door once again. "Are you okay, you dirty bastard?"<p>

Spain looked up from where he was surrounded by miniature car models, statues, and other proofs of his productivity and general okayness. "Ah, Romano! Look, look! I'm in perfect condition!"

Romano was so shocked he forgot to swear. "Spain, what about your cold? Are you okay?"

"I don't know, but I became better once I adopted the Euro." He held up a jar of tomato paste. "There's loads to eat now!"

Exhausted from his long journey and worn out of adrenaline, Romano crashed to the floor. "_What the hell, dammit..._"

"Eh? Romano? Romano!"

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight." Scorpione <em>Nono<em> crossed his arms and tapped his foot, a sure sign of impatience tempered with disbelief and concern. "You got like _this_," he waved a hand at the trio's assorted injuries, "you lost several teeth, broke three legs and an arm, twisted an ankle, and generally smashed up, because you collectively _tripped over the cat_."

Pistone, Brasco and Costelle exchanged nervous glances from their beds.

"Yeah, boss. That's exactly what happened." _Nono_ regarded them with a mixture of irritation and amusement. The trio cringed and waited for the axe to fall.

"If that's what you say, then I have no reason to distrust my own men." His face relaxed into a smile as he turned to leave the infirmary. The trio breathed a collective sigh of relief, which was quickly sucked back into a gasp of horror.

"Miss Bianchi!" Brasco exclaimed, only just keeping himself from scrambling backwards in fear. Costelle was not so lucky, and slammed his already-injured cranium into the headboard.

It was amazing that a seven year old girl could induce such a reaction.

Bianchi approached the sickbeds with a sweet smile, carrying a tray piled high with dainty confections of every kind, all exuding a vicious dark aura.

"Papa told me how you all got hurt tripping over Hayato's naughty cat, and he said it would be a nice thought to make something for you while you're still here," and the unspoken words everyone heard, "and you can't run away."

_Evil. The boss is _evil_._

"Th-That's really not necessary!" Costelle spluttered, while the other two nodded vigorously. "We'd hate to trouble you, Miss-"

"Oh, no trouble at all," Bianchi cut across him smoothly. She perched on the edge of his bed, holding out a muffin in a virulent shade of purple. "Now, say _ahh_~"

Costelle sent Brasco a look screaming _I told you so_ or possibly _get me the hell out of here_, and when no help arrived, added another month to his mental hospital tally.


End file.
